


Money On the Board

by joyfulseeker



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Dallas Stars, Holiday Fic Exchange, M/M, Soul Bond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-30
Updated: 2013-12-30
Packaged: 2018-01-06 16:38:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1109108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/joyfulseeker/pseuds/joyfulseeker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seguin is angry in Jamie’s head. It’s like a little coal burning, always.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Money On the Board

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ten_miles_til_midnight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ten_miles_til_midnight/gifts).



> Thanks to svmadelyn for organizing this Hockey Holiday Exchange.
> 
> Grateful thanks to altri_uccelli for an awesome beta job! You're the best.

They call Jamie up at the end of June to float the possibility. The Bruins are barely out of the playoffs. Pretty harsh, though Jamie’s been around enough to see it as the cost of doing business. 

Jamie looks Seguin up afterward to refresh his memory. He remembers he went in the top three in the draft and has been spotty afterward. He’s a good-looking guy, Jamie had remembered that, young and cocky, and Jamie had remembered that too. He’s also a publicity nightmare. That might not matter so much in Dallas. It’s not a hockey town. He can’t remember if they’ve ever actually met.

They call him again in July. He doesn’t have to live with you, Jim says, but he does have to live close. Jamie’s had temporary bonds before, just enough to prove that he was bond-capable, that he was a team player, someone good to have around. He’s never had something like this, something meant to be permanent.

It’s not permanent, Jim says, but we have to de-risk this situation. He's in the same building as you. You can keep an eye on each other. This is a big year for both of you. He needs someone looking out for him.

*

Seguin is angry in Jamie’s head. It’s like a little coal burning, always. Like the Hulk, he thinks wryly, which is the first time the situation changes. He gets a phone call a second later.

“Did you just think that I’m always angry?” Seguin says. He sounds incredulous and amused. He’s still mad, though, Jamie can tell even if it’s not in his voice.

“Am I wrong?” Jamie says.

Seguin doesn’t say anything for a long moment. Jamie gets up and wanders into the kitchen. He’s left a bunch of dishes on the counter from the last few days that he starts loading into the dishwasher one-handed. He always finds chores easier to handle when he’s a little distracted.

“So are you,” Seguin finally says.

“I guess that’s something we’ve got in common,” Jamie says.

“You always think of me as Seguin,” he says. “Tyler or Segs, I don’t care, but only people who are pissed at me call me Seguin.”

Jamie wants to say, are you going to give me a reason to call you something else, but he doesn’t.

“Okay,” he says.

Seguin snorts. “Whatever.”

Jamie pauses, then puts down the dirty bowl he’s been holding. He looks out the window over the sink and really pays attention for a second. He’s maybe done a disservice here, which makes him feel uncomfortable.

“Hey, Tyler,” he says. “I’m not mad at you.” He’s only met Tyler a handful of times, really, before this last time. They don’t really know each other, and Jamie hasn’t done much to change that. He figured they’d have nothing but too much time anyway. He’s got a lot of people he’s pissed at, starting with anyone who asks him if he’s mad he didn’t get invited to the Olympic orientation camp, but Tyler’s not one of them.

“Yeah?” Tyler says. “Well. Cool. Anyway, I know something else we got in common.”

“Oh yeah?” Jamie says.

“We’re going to show everyone this year,” Tyler says. “I promise you that.”

The words ring between them almost like they’re solid, for all they’re thousands of kilometers apart. That feeling in the back of Jamie’s head has changed a little. It’s no longer like a constant irritation, picking at the edges of his own anger and flaring it into new life. Now it just feels like determination.

“Good,” Jamie says. 

He looks out the window. He says, “I’m going to hold you to that.”

*

Jamie and Jordie come back early, and the heat of Texas is like a fist closing around his throat when they get off the airplane in August.

“Whew, boy,” Jordie says. 

Jamie settles his hat more firmly over his eyes. “Home sweet home.” They head to the taxi stand, dragging gear behind them.

“Hey, your boy here yet?” Jordie asks. 

“Yeah,” Jamie says. He’s been able to feel them getting closer all day. It’s been distracting, loud. He’s heard it’s not supposed to be that obvious, but they’re both nervous and paying a lot of attention. 

Seguin, Jamie thinks, then stops himself and thinks deliberately, Tyler. Tyler’s more nervous than him, though it’s oddly circular, feeding back into Jamie and putting him on edge.

“That gonna be weird?” Jordie says.

Jamie shrugs. “You know we’ve talked a few times since we got put together.”

“Yeah,” Jordie says. “This isn’t like pen pals, though.”

“Probably a good thing, I was a shitty pen pal,” Jamie says. In fourth grade he’d been assigned to some girl named Laetitia who lived somewhere in France. He mostly remembers writing a few letters trying to explain the rules of hockey to her and getting more back in return that had odd, curly handwriting that always started out, “Bonjour, Jamie!” and talked a lot about mean teachers.

“It’s still kind of weird to me,” Jordie says. “You’re the one bonded and not me.” Most bonds in ice hockey are in defensive pairings.

“I don’t think this one is the way these things usually work,” Jamie says. He hesitates, not wanting to trash a new teammate right away, even to his brother. But it’s not exactly a secret, the things that are being said in the media. 

“Yeah, I know,” Jordie says. “Still, though. Did you even listen back in Juniors when they were telling us about professional bonding?”

“Man, I listened,” Jamie says. He might have been thinking more about how to improve his backhand, but he’d been there. Anyway, he’d gotten a refresher before he and Seguin had met again in July.

He can feel Seguin get even more nervous the closer the cab gets to their apartment building. It’s bad enough that Jamie can feel the anxiety clutching in his stomach. He sends Seguin a wave of _dude, chill_ as best he can, but he guesses he’ll have to do something about that, because the nerves don’t calm down much.

Jordie glances over a few times in the elevator, which is when Jamie realizes he’s tapping his fingers against the strap of his duffel. Jamie sighs and pulls out his phone. _Which apartment are you in?_ he texts.

_403_.

_Cool, we’re in 812. I’ll be down after i drop my stuff_

Tyler sends a smiley face. Jamie raises his eyebrows, then drops his phone back into his pocket.

“I’m going to go see Seguin, say hi.” Jamie follows Jordie down the hall. “I might invite him back for dinner. Depends on how he’s set up.”

“Okay,” Jordie says. His tone says, don’t involve me in your drama, which seems unfair.

Their apartment appears to have weathered the summer break just fine, though Jordie’s potted plants look a little wan. Jamie takes the stairs down after a brief stop into his room, leaving Jordie cooing over the leaves on his ficus. 

He knocks on Tyler’s door out of politeness. He knows Tyler’s standing close to it. That sort of proximity awareness is supposed to be helpful out on the ice, but right now it’s just another awkward invasion of privacy, a way for Jamie to know how cool Tyler isn’t playing it.

He’s able to put on a good show when he opens the door, though, big smile on his face. He’s good at that, Jamie thinks.

“Hey, man,” he says. “Welcome back to Dallas.”

“Thanks,” Jamie says. 

They look at each other, cautious. Tyler’s wearing a short-sleeved t-shirt that shows his tattoos on his left arm, a lot of them. They cover the spot on his inner arm where Jamie has his own tattoo, and then some. He’s bigger than he was a month ago, like he’s been working hard in the gym like Jamie has. 

Jamie holds out a hand to shake. Tyler extends his own and pauses right before they touch, eyes flicking down to Jamie’s hand and then back to his face, before wrapping his hand in a firm clasp. Jamie’s palm itches where it presses against Tyler’s, and he feels the pressure of Tyler’s fingertips on the back of his hand, distinct and separate. He can feel Tyler’s mind open to him briefly, a swirl of that ever-present anger with a good seasoning of resentment and fear. He’s a little excited about the upcoming season, but man have they got a lot of work to do.

Jamie doesn’t know what Tyler’s getting from him in return, but he feels Tyler’s anxiety flare again, even as his smile stays undimmed. The contradiction is confusing.

“Hey,” Jamie says. He keeps holding onto Tyler’s hand when he goes to release it, and his smile fades slowly into an uncertainty that looks a little more honest. There’s a moment of all-over physical awareness between the two of them, where Jamie can feel how far apart they’re standing, how he’s taller than Tyler, and how his hand is holding on to Tyler’s, how Tyler’s trying to figure out what Jamie wants. His eyes flick down Jamie’s body and back up in a frank, assessing gaze, something speculative and a little sexual lying underneath the uncertainty, like he’s thinking about what he might want as well as what Jamie wants.

“Can I come in?” Jamie asks. He lets go of his hand, and the feedback between them dies down.

“Oh,” Tyler says. “Uh. Sure.” He takes a step back and opens the door wider.

“Thanks,” Jamie says. Tyler doesn’t have much yet. Once they talk things over he’s definitely going to be inviting Tyler up to his and Jordie’s place for dinner, where they have tables and couches.

“Hey, I just got here a week ago,” Tyler protests, like he plucked that thought right out of Jamie’s head.

“Yeah,” Jamie says. He takes one of the folding chairs at the card table that’s been set up against one wall of a living room that looks exactly like his except empty. “We should talk about this bond.”

Tyler takes the other chair.

“Yeah, sorry,” he says.

Jamie shakes his head. “I don’t mind, I don’t think I’ve got much to hide. But I want us to be level with each other. I want us to be cool.”

“Yeah, man,” Tyler says.

“You seem like you’re trying to hide a lot,” Jamie says. He watches Tyler’s face twist into a frown before it smooths out again.

“I don’t think that’s true,” Tyler says.

“You feel like you got shit on,” Jamie says.

“You think you got chained to a loser,” Tyler says.

“That’s not true,” Jamie says. “I think you can play hockey. I think you can win at hockey. You feel like I’m here to hold you down.” 

That makes another roil of mixed emotion surge up in Seguin. There’s another flash of body awareness that Jamie realizes is coming from Tyler. He jerks his head up and Jamie watches his adam’s apple bob as he swallows.

“I’m not here to do anything other than let you play,” Jamie says. “I want us to play the best we can. I’m not your dad, I’m not your jailer, I’m not your conscience. I’m here so we can both play.”

“You definitely got told to keep an eye on me,” Tyler says. “It was one of the first things you thought after we—” he waves his hand between them.

Jamie finds himself laughing, even though nothing about this is funny. “You think I needed all this, needed to be told to keep an eye on you? A new player, like you, gets traded onto my team? Come on, you’d have my attention anyway.”

Tyler leans back in his chair and folds his arms over his chest. 

“You have my attention,” Jamie says. He thinks the words in his head, too, as solid as he can. He’s spent some time since their phone call thinking about this, thinking about how Tyler’d promised him they’d show everyone what they were worth, and what he wanted to promise Tyler in return. “But we get to decide what we are. Nobody else. You want me to be your parole officer, it’ll be a long season for both of us.”

Tyler huffs a breath through his nose and smiles a little, just a fraction of the smile he’d answered the door with. He nods, jerks his head up. “All right,” he says.

Jamie feels the moment leak away from him. Tyler still doesn’t feel at ease, but maybe feels less like he’s putting on a show. Jamie’ll take it for now.

“Come on,” he says. “Let me introduce you to my big brother upstairs. Fair warning: anything he says about me is a lie.”

They muddle through a shared dinner and then an evening of shooting the shit and playing videogames. It’s a little like any other time he’s welcomed a new teammate, except that it’s a lot harder to concentrate at winning NHL12 when you’re sorting through someone else’s emotions as well as your own.

They figure out after a while that they both experience the bond differently. Tyler’s all feelings to Jamie, whereas Tyler always gets things in words.

“That seems more useful,” Jamie says. 

“Oh, yeah, it’s real useful to have you swearing at me in surround sound,” Tyler says.

“Jesus-fucking-fuck you,” Jamie says as Tyler cuts him off and scores, and he gets a burst of solid amusement from Tyler with a distinct overtone of, _See?_ as Tyler elbows him and then leans his shoulder in, teasing.

Jordie just laughs at both of them, but after Tyler’s left for the night, he gives Jamie a long look. Jamie raises his eyebrows at him.

“Got yourself a charmer,” he says.

Jamie blows a breath out. “Yeah.” He can’t tell yet if that’s going to be a problem or not.

“Could be worse,” Jordie says. “He could be more of a dick.”

“We rated pretty high together on the compatibility scores, nobody seemed too concerned about us not bonding,” Jamie says. “I wasn’t worried I’d hate him.” He thinks for a second. “I think he was worried about that, though.” 

From four floors away, Tyler sends off a burst of defensive dismay. _Jesus, shut up_ , he thinks. If Tyler’s going to get all upset about what he’s letting Jamie feel, this bond is going to get old fast. He can’t tell how much of that Tyler gets, but he quiets down after that.

*

Jamie spends the time between their arrival in Dallas and training camp getting to know Tyler. It seems like the responsible thing to do. He wasn’t lying when he said he’d do it for any new player. He spends some time with their new first round rookie pick and a couple of the AHL guys, he shoots the shit with the guys returning from their summer break, he hangs out with his brother. But he spends most of his time with Tyler. He wants them to stop being strangers together, and he wants their shared purpose to spur them on to great things this year, like the way the whole team banded together in the last couple months of last season.

Plus, he just plain wants to stop feeling like he’s bonded to a stranger.

Tyler’s easy to like. He puts people at ease, puts Jamie at ease. They go to a football game together, throw the first pitch at a ball game together. They alternate buying each other breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Jamie shows him his favorite bar with a beergarden and finds out what kind of beer Tyler likes, then finds out that Tyler’s mostly still young enough to think any beer is good beer. 

“I’m judging you for that,” he says.

“No shit,” Tyler laughs. “Like I didn’t get that loud and clear. Ed-u-cate me, then.”

“I will, you fucking infant,” Jamie says, and goes and gets a beer sampler from the bartender. They both get pretty loose that night, sprawled at a table on the back patio in the warm Dallas night. Tyler spends half his time petting the boxer that belongs to the table next to theirs that he’s been luring over with crooning noises and half his time laughing at Jamie, claiming that his increasingly disjointed thoughts are hilarious. For Jamie’s part, he’s mostly just basking in the solid stream of cheerful well-being Tyler’s putting out in his direction.

They wander back homeward around midnight. “I have a dog,” Tyler says, which isn’t new information to Jamie, especially not after tonight. “Marshall. He’s the best dog.” He repeats that a couple of times, muttering under his breath. 

“When are you going to bring him down?” Jamie asks.

“Oh man,” Tyler says. “I used to live with someone and he’d help me take care of him, but here. I don’t know.”

“Huh,” Jamie says.

Tyler veers sideways and knocks into Jamie’s shoulder. “Not my _boyfriend_ ,” he says, sounding scandalized. “Just a good friend. Jealous?”

“I’m not jealous,” Jamie protests. “I just wasn’t sure. It didn’t feel like there was someone else, but. Maybe I wouldn’t know.”

“Was that going to be your next question, after you’d run through my favorite color and my favorite breakfast food and my favorite Saturday morning cartoon?” Tyler teases. 

Jamie flushes and shoves Tyler back. “Shut up,” he says. It maybe hadn’t been the smoothest way to try to get to know each other but it had been a start. 

“Well, now you know,” Tyler says. He spreads his arms. He’s wearing a backward baseball cap, a sleeveless shirt, and board shorts. Jamie’s eyes stop on the cut of his arms and then drift upward. “Nobody in this bed but me, man.”

That’s something else they haven’t talked about. The bond trainer had emphasized that there were all sorts of bonds and they shouldn’t feel pressured one way or another, that communication was the key to a healthy bond. It was like getting a relationship talk from his parents, which at the time Jamie had found both hilarious and embarrassing, especially in reference to a kid he barely knew.

“Now you’re thinking about me in bed,” Tyler says.

“You wanted me to be thinking about you in bed,” Jamie retorts. His face feels warm.

“Yeah, maybe,” Tyler says, and grins. He elbows Jamie in the side and laughs when Jamie takes a couple steps past him, then jogs to catch up.

They go their separate ways once they get back home.

*

Being on the ice with a bond is weird. No one else on the Stars is in a professional bonded pairing, none of the d-men or forwards. A few of the guys have personal bonds, including Horcoff, traded along with Tyler, but no one Jamie can get the on-ice perspective from. Coach has some experience with other bonded pairs, but neither Jamie nor Tyler know him well yet, and Jamie can feel Tyler’s wariness at the thought of talking to coaching staff on their own. 

Jamie can tell exactly where Tyler is on the ice. Passing to him feels like passing to himself. They experiment a little with no-look passing, enough that Jordie chirps them for being show-offs, but Tyler just laughs. The first scrimmage is a chaotic mess, though, and Jamie completely loses track of the action the first time Tyler takes a hard check, drifting out of position toward Tyler instead of attacking the way he’s supposed to. It’s a rookie mistake his squad pays for with a point, and he swears at himself the entire way back to the bench. 

Tyler shoves at him hard once they’re jostling their way in between two of the prospects from the Texas Stars on the bench, blasting him with his irritation at the same time.

“Get your head together,” he says. “You can’t—”

“I know,” Jamie says.

“—you can’t be stopped out there like that,” Tyler says.

“I know,” Jamie says. He pushes back his helmet and wipes at his face with a towel, then pulls his helmet back down and fastens the strap with short, angry movements.

“You keep doing that they’ll just go after me to get to you,” Tyler says.

_Jesus christ, I know_ , Jamie thinks, and feels Tyler’s frustration burning in the back of his mind.

Their next shift goes better. He and Tyler are both focusing more on themselves than each other, enough that mostly all Jamie gets is a sense of shared determination not to fuck up again. The poor right-winger paired with them is working hard to keep up, obviously thrown by the change in tempo between them. 

They change in silence, then meet up with the media together. Tyler is clearly better at dealing with reporters. That charm works in his favor and he doesn’t get tongue-tied the way Jamie constantly battles to get over.

“It’s obviously an adjustment,” Tyler responds, when someone from the local paper asks if they’re struggling to balance their new bond on the ice. “I mean, any time you try a bond, it’s something new to get used to out there. I’m not worried, though.” He looks over at Jamie, wordlessly asking Jamie to back him up.

“No,” Jamie says. “Not too worried. We’ve both played hockey in a lot of difference situations. I think it will only-obviously, we were asked to try this out and it’s early days, but I think it’ll only improve our playing, for both of us, and playing together.”

“So you expect you’ll be on the first line together,” a woman from ESPN asks.

“I think that’s a question for the coaching staff,” Jamie says, adding a smile at the end to soften it and trying to block out a swamp of resigned anger from Seguin. When he looks over, Tyler raises an eyebrow, smiling a little. You’d never know the question had pissed him off.

“I’ve liked playing with him so far,” Tyler says. “So we’ll see.”

“Yeah, we’ll see,” Jamie says, and the team publicist calls an end to the Q&A.

Afterward, when it’s just the two of them heading back to Jamie’s car, Tyler looks over and Jamie can feel his frustration.

“I’m tired of those sorts of questions already,” he says.

Jamie doesn’t say, could be worse, could be asking questions about partying it up in Toronto, but of course he doesn’t have to.

“Yeah, fuck you too,” Tyler says.

“Eh, simmer down,” Jamie says. “You know I don’t mean anything by it. We’ll give them something else to talk about. If we’re good enough.”

“You’re the golden boy here,” Tyler says. “You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“Oh, you think so?” Jamie says. He’s getting tired of Tyler’s defensive bristling. “Man, you don’t think we’re in a whole new game now? We don’t do well and we’re no one’s golden boys. You’d think you’d have learned that in Boston.”

“ _Fuck_ you,” Tyler says, and Jamie gets no warning before he’s shoving him sideways, a lot harder than friendly rough housing calls for. Jamie shoves him back, not stopping until Tyler’s back bangs hard against the white-painted cinderblock wall. Tyler’s anger and frustration buffets him as he struggles to wrestle away. 

Jamie shoves him back again. “Hey,” Jamie says. “Hey!”

“You fucking think—” Tyler spits. His face is red.

“Calm the fuck down,” Jamie says, leaning his weight forward, leaving Tyler squirming against the pin. “You’re fucking frustrated? Calm down, asshole.”

They’re pressed close together. Tyler jerks his head back and hits the wall, hisses a breath and then grits out, “Get off me.”

“You need to wrestle some more?” Jamie says. “I have an older brother, I can do this all day.”

“Get _off_ ,” Tyler says.

Jamie backs off when he thinks Tyler means it. The coiled tension has leaked out of Tyler’s body by the time he steps back. They stay facing each other on opposite sides of the hallway, leaning against the wall. Tyler’s still breathing fast but that burst of temper seems to have faded as quickly as it showed up.

“Sorry,” Tyler says. He licks his lips and then tucks his lower lip in tight, biting down in a grimace. 

“What was that?” Jamie says.

“Sorry,” Tyler says again. He’s not making eye contact, a young kid’s gesture. He feels upset in Jamie’s head.

“I guess I hit a nerve, so I should apologize too,” Jamie says slowly. He’s moving from bafflement to shame over scuffling in a hallway with his new bond partner. Jesus, the media’d have a field day with that.

Tyler winces. 

Jamie tries to remember the details that the bond specialists had shared, because something about this whole ridiculous argument rings faintly familiar. 

“Fucking hell,” he says after a second. Tyler’s shaking his head when he looks over. “Did we just.” There was some sort of dippy term that had been in the _Understanding Your Bond_ powerpoint presentation. “Was that a feedback thing?”

Tyler wraps his hands around the back of his neck and slides them upward, pulling his head down. “Shit. sorry.”

Jamie has a headache, maybe from dehydration, maybe from Tyler. “It was both of us,” he says.

“Me more than you,” Tyler says. “I just. This is really frustrating sometimes.”

“I’ve been on a losing team since I was drafted,” Jamie says. “You fucking believe me when I say I understand.” He tries not to think of it that way, but he’s had too many good luck streaks sour into bad to not know that feeling when it’s caking the inside of his mouth and tightening across his temples.

“Sorry,” Tyler says. He moves closer. Jamie gets a whisper of tentative intention before Tyler reaches out and puts his hands on the sides of Jamie’s neck. He works his fingers up behind Jamie’s skull and then down toward his shoulders. “I didn’t mean to fuck you up,” he says. Jamie closes his eyes and leans into Tyler’s hands.

“I shouldn’t have been so easy to rile up,” Jamie says after a bit.

“You weren’t,” Tyler says. He huffs out a breath that ruffles across Jamie’s mouth. “We could have been brawling in the hallway instead of you just pushing me up against walls.” He hits a tender spot and Jamie lets his head roll forward. Tyler’s hand comes up and scratches though Jamie’s hair.

“Come on,” he says. “We’ll stop by the kitchen before we go, get you some hydration.”

Jamie pushes himself upright reluctantly, and Tyler pulls away, then gives him a smack on the ass to get him moving.

“Real nice,” Jamie says.

“I guess you could shove me up against a wall again,” Tyler says. “I kind of liked that.”

“I know you did,” Jamie mumbles and follows Tyler down the hallway. He thinks he’s starting to see why so many bonded pairs end up in bed together. Tyler’s hands on him had felt good, even with mostly platonic intentions. That feedback loop goes both ways.

Tyler turns and looks at him, inquiring. His face turns speculative, then almost leering.

Settle down, Jamie thinks. Settle down. He’s not sure who he’s telling, exactly.

In the car later, Jamie glances over when they’re stopped at a red light. “We’ll get better on the ice,” he says. “I was thinking about it, and I think we just need to stay more focused out there. Especially, checking. I think part of what threw me was that moment of shock you had. You know.”

Tyler turns his head to the window, tilting his head to look at a billboard ad. His face is thoughtful when Jamie looks out of the corner of his eye, and he doesn’t feel pissed at least. “There’s always, like, a second, right?”

“Yeah,” Jamie says. “And I think I wasn’t used to it. I mean, I’m used to it for myself, but remember that first time you took a hard hit?”

“Man, I remember the first time I took an NHL hit,” Tyler says. “Just, bam. Hit by a truck.”

“Yeah,” Jamie says. “I’m not looking forward to playing some of your old buddies, by the way.”

Tyler laughs shortly and fidgets with his watchband, not looking away from the window. “Yeah.”

Jamie takes a hand off the wheel and reaches across the car to grab Tyler at the back of the neck. He keeps his hand there, gripping solidly. 

After a second Tyler relaxes back into Jamie’s hand. “I guess that’s the nice thing about changing conferences. It’s like an old girlfriend, you don’t gotta see her much.”

“Yeah. Anyway, we should practice checking,” Jamie says. He takes his hand back to make a turn. “Jordie will be fuckin’ overjoyed to help.” He hesitates. 

Tyler looks over. “Just say it, dude.”

“If we can’t get over it you know we’ll have to talk to Coach about it.”

“Whatever, that’s fine,” Tyler says. “You all worried over there.”

“Oh, I’m worried?” Jamie says. “Anyway, there are probably people we can talk to. Experts.” But only if they can’t figure it out. He and Tyler feel pretty united on that front.

“I’m not long-term worried,” Tyler says. “And I think we’ll figure it out. We’re just new to this, both of us.”

“There, that’s the truth,” Jamie says. “Was that so hard?”

“Fuck off,” Tyler says, looking out the window again, but he doesn’t feel mad, just rueful.

In the lobby as they’re waiting for the elevator, Tyler turns to Jamie, leaning in close. “Your headache is better.”

“Yeah, I guess it is,” Jamie says. He raises his eyebrows, waiting. Tyler raises his eyebrows back, then lets his gaze drift downward along Jamie’s body again before looking back up and meeting Jamie’s eyes. 

Jamie takes a step forward, herding Tyler back toward the wall of elevators. No one else is in the lobby, just their mirrored reflections and the regular ding of the elevator behind them descending to the ground floor. 

“Feels like you’re asking me something,” Jamie says.

“I think you should come home with me,” Tyler says. He puts his hands on either side of Jamie’s neck, like he had earlier.

The elevator doors open behind Tyler and Tyler drops his arms. Jamie steers Tyler to one side with hands on his hips to let a woman out, then shoves Tyler backward into the elevator. Tyler laughs at the wide-eyed look the woman exiting had given them, and Jamie would feel embarrassed but he’s too preoccupied. The doors close behind them a second later, and she’s officially out of sight out of mind. Jamie presses the button for the fourth floor. He doesn’t bother with the eighth.

“Yeah, baby,” Tyler says.

“You’re some fuckin’ trouble,” Jamie says. But he surely knew that going into this.

“I guess you like that,” Tyler says. 

“Hell, I guess so,” Jamie says. He follows Tyler into his apartment, pushes him against the door as soon as it’s closed.

“You liked this,” he murmurs.

“You know how often you’ve called me pretty in your head?” Tyler says. He leans into Jamie’s hands. “A lot,” he whispers before brushing their lips together.

*

Their first game is a disaster, a mess of dropped leads and blown chances and no steady rhythm. Jamie and Tyler are still reading each other like a dream, but they’re having lousy puck luck, a frustration that builds between them the longer the game goes on. Tyler has a fine, diamond determination when he’s playing that Jamie wants to meet, but they still can’t seem to get a goal. 

For a crazy man, Jamie thinks, Thomas is still fucking minding the net. 

Tyler, next to him, snorts. “Won a Stanley Cup.” 

“Asshole,” Jamie says and elbows him as they scoot over on the bench. Then their number is up, and that’s the last moment of lightness Jamie gets in the game.

It’s a home game. Halfway through the third period when the equalizing goal is scored the crowd gets quiet, and when Florida scores again to pull ahead, the building goes silent like Jamie hates, an entire arena of disappointment. The game is exhausting and infuriating in equal measure, and Jamie gets off the ice wanting nothing more than to drown himself in the showers. Facing the press waiting to talk to him makes him wish deeply and sincerely for the power to turn invisible. Makes him want to give his newly-awarded C back in favor of someone who can make inspiring speeches. Tyler, ahead of him, gives the mental equivalent of a “buck up camper” back pat, a reminder that he’s not alone here.

Jamie gives Lehtonen a tap on his goalie mask on his way in, and takes a shoulder clap from Jordie. Visible through one of the doorways, Roussel and Garbutt are getting their faces seen to with ice packs and gauze. 

He’s goddamn exhausted by the time the media leave. Tyler is already out of his skates, sweater and pads while Jamie is still sitting in his stall. The locker room has cleared out by now, so even though Tyler’s ahead of him, he’s still going slow, deliberately. Trying to keep Jamie company.

“You can head on in to the showers,” Jamie says. 

“No worries,” Tyler says. He walks over and stands in front of Jamie. His hair is still wet, drying in sweaty spikes above his forehead. He takes off Jamie’s hat and puts it on the bench, and Jamie gets a quick flash of Tyler’s intention before he says, “Come on, arms up.”

“Dude, no,” Jamie says, but Tyler’s determination is obvious and way stronger than Jamie’s mental and physical exhaustion. 

“You’re slowing down Josh’s day,” Tyler says, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder at where their equipment assistant is sorting through jerseys and towels. He unsnaps Jamie’s fighting strap from his jersey and pulls the hem up in a quick motion. Jamie lifts his arms up in self-defense. Tyler tosses the jersey into the laundry bin and kneels down in front of Jamie, pulling at the tape on his shin pads. Jamie unfastens his elbow and shoulder pads, still moving slowly. He scrubs a towel over his face and hair and leaves it draped around his neck, leaning back in his stall as Tyler moves on to his skates. 

He hasn’t had someone do this for him since he was a little kid, really little. Or injured. He zones out watching Tyler, who is frowning a little in concentration as he unlaces each skate and pulls them free. Jamie responds to Tyler’s unspoken cues to move each leg as he gets each shin pad off. Nobody else is around now. It’s just the two of them. Tyler finishes and puts his hands on Jamie’s knees, squeezes gently. 

“Tomorrow,” Jamie says. 

“Hm?” Tyler says.

“I’ll work on my ‘let’s go boys’ speech tomorrow,” Jamie says.

“Yeah, you will,” Tyler says. His faith is warming, solid and uncomplicated. It feels like something Jamie can lean on. 

Tyler pats Jamie’s knees. “Come on, kid, into the showers.” On his way in he adds, “Also, I’m taking you home tonight. Stick together, eh?” He pulls off his undershirt and drops his shorts, leaving Jamie to follow his naked ass across the room.

No complaints here, Jamie thinks, and hears Tyler laughing at him even as the water turns on.


End file.
